Felicity giggled vapidly as she chewed on the end of her glassees. She had gotten totally bored waiting for Ollie to show up and had gotten back on the internet, though this time her pursuits were much less academic. She'd burned through some impulse jewelry
shopping (all on the company card, of course), and then moved on to porn, a corner of the internet she'd generally sidestepped until now. There was, like,
so much for her to explore, and maybe she could even pick up a thing or too to show her boss...

And while she was getting her motor running, a process in the Bimbo.com site had accessed her contacts and sent out links to certain people, including...

****

TAKE THE BIMBO.COM SURVEY TO FIND OUT WHICH KIND OF BIMBO YOU ARE!

Thea Queen was appalled. Even in her most stupidly self-destructive moments, "bimbo" wasn't a word that anyone would use to describe her. Yeah, she used to party and drank more than she should have, but she'd gotten things on track and had totally rebuilt
her life.

The colors on the website flickered and changed, and with it went Thea's rage, dulling into cool curiosity. How could someone possibly think she was a bimbo? What kind of bimbo would she even be? The more she stared at the screen, the more she wanted to
find out.

She clicked on the screen, and the survey began.

WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?

Verdant.

IS THAT A CLUB?

Yes.

SO YOU ARE A PARTY GIRL

No, I run it.

DON'T BE SILLY, WHO WOULD LET A BIMBO RUN A CLUB?

That's the point, I'm NOT a

The colors swirled and the speakers on Thea's laptop played soft dance music and once again her anger dissipated. The question did make sense, sort of. She deleted what she'd typed and changed it: